How Could I Forget (The First Time We Ever Met)
by ambitiousbutrubbish
Summary: Arthur would never have entered the dreamsharing business if it wasn't for Eames A fact that Eames is infinitely grateful for, but which always fills him with guilt whenever he remembers. Prequel to Bros Before Hos.
1. Part 1

**A/N:** This is a prequel to Bros Before Hos (but should probably be read second or you'll ruin the, admittedly not surprising, 'plot twist' in that), because some people mentioned they liked the hint of background I set in that story. So, here is said backstory. This should be read as one part, but is too long to be posted that way. Again, this is not angst, still missing the tag for melancholy. Also, neither Inception or it's characters belong to me, and I know nothing about the military. Or the American or British school system. So please forgive me. Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own and spell-checks for not informing me.

* * *

Eames' parents were probably going to disown him. Up until now, he had done everything they had asked him to do. He came from old money, ancient money, and had spent all his schooling years at the same strictly Church of England boarding school. He seemed to cause no trouble, be a model student, while underneath it all he learned to pick pockets, drink and gamble like only the bored and rebellious aristocracy can. He had been accepted into, and practically begged to attend, every prestigious university his parents had enrolled him into. And yet here he was, days after his graduation, waiting impatiently in line, to join the British army. He was old enough now that he did not have to rely on his parents money to get him by.

"Eugene Peralli?" The man behind the desk asked, and Eames winced as he stepped forward. It had been years since anyone besides his parents or their acquaintances had called him by his real name. To everyone else, he was simply Eames, a variation on his mothers maiden name.

He stepped forward. "Yes, that's me." He said, and then the man proceeded to explain to him all that would be required to complete the position he was applying for. Eames took great care to avoid the man's face. Because of his years of practice, both in his educational pursuits, and his less-legal past-times, Eames had learned to read faces to such an extent that he could tell if a man was lying by little more than a simple glance. While this was a great skill when it came to both gambling and psychology, in his day to day life it became a bit of a burden. Being able to tell when a person was lying to you made them very hard to trust in the long run. It also made you quite cynical.

Eames nodded at all the right places, and eventually the man behind the desk finished speaking and passed Eames a number of forms, which he filled out as quickly as possible. The man stood an shook his hand. "Welcome to the British army, Mr Peralli."

-00000-

Eames slipped his hands over his now-short brown hair and ran a critical eye over his new uniform. He'd never been one for much colour when it came to clothing, but if he had to spend too long in this outfit, he was sure that once he'd left the army he would never wear anything colourless again. He had only been in the military for a few days, but already he was being called to his Sergeant's quarters for a 'very important meeting.' He hoped he wasn't being kicked out already. His parents hadn't disowned him, sure he would come to his senses, but he wasn't too keen on going back there.

Besides, he'd only slightly ogled his fellow soldiers arse. The man had been staring at Eames' lips for hours anyway. Probably reminded him of some bird he'd left behind when he joined up.

Eames arrived at the Sergeant's door and knocked loudly before entering. The Sergeant was younger than he expected, dark hair, dark eyes and tanned skin, but his face had a hardened look about it, one which Eames associated with too much life too quickly, and had worked for a long time to perfect.

"Mr Peralli?" The Sergeant asked, and Eames nodded. "I have been informed that you have only recently joined the armed forces. Is this correct?"

"Yes sir." Eames replied, remembering to keep his voice and face neutral. The other man would not know how curious he was about the whole situation.

"Mr. Peralli, a new field of research and training had just been brought to my attention, and I have been asked to gather volunteers to take part in various experiments in regards to these new developments. I have chosen you because you are new to everything here, and so are not settled into any routine which may be disturbed by a change in divisions. Are you willing to take part?"

Eames knew better than to ask questions. The details would be filled in as he went along. So he simply nodded.

"Good." The Sergeant said, smiling tightly at Eames. "So. Mr. Peralli," he asked. "What do you know about dreams?"

-00000-

The first year was hard, but Eames wouldn't lose it for the world. Though it certainly changed him. His transfer from the 'public' side of the armed forces landed him in the newly-discovered field of dreamsharing, and it was this technology that would shape the rest of his life.

However, while Eames could see plenty of potential uses for the PASIV device, the army used it solely for training exercises. To teach their recruits how to kill and maim each other without any consequences. Eames would never forget his first foray into the world of shared subconscious. He was dragged, bound and blindfolded, into dark and dingy room and thrown onto the floor. He was then freed from his constraints where he was shown his fellow recruits whom he had been introduced to only a day before. A gun was then shoved forcefully into his hand, and Eames was told to shoot his fellow recruits, or be shot himself. Eames opened fire, and then was then taken out from behind. He woke up sweating and shaking, eyes searching frantically for anything that had just happened. It was then that he had been informed that he had been dreaming.

Killing, and being killed never got easier. But over time Eames and his fellow recruits began to develop ways to distance themselves from what was going on around them whenever they were thrown into a training exercise. They also learned the hard way how to tell the difference between dreams and reality, after one of their own shot himself thinking it was the only way he could wake up. There were things that could only be accomplished in a dream. The recruits in the PASIV experiments developed a game. Who could come up with the most inventive ways of killing each other. So far, Eames was winning, with a situation which seemed like a bastadisation of both Lord of the Rings and Deltora Quest. It had been the first time fantasy creatures had been seen in the dreamscape. And Orcs were not neat killers. It was a sick and twisted game. But whatever helped them cope, they would try. Humans are great adaptors.

And of course, there were consequences. Later in his life, Eames discovered that almost all of his fellow recruits had gone insane. By the time he was 33, he was one of only three survivors of the military's original PASIV experiments. No one could kill on a daily basis and not come out scarred.

And on a personal level, the new training changed Eames. He filled out, both physically and mentally. He started to openly question authority, instead of doing it behind closed doors, or in gambling circles. He adopted flirting as a defence mechanism, and projected himself loudly into every space he entered. He began to detest the drab colours he was forced to wear. He learned to forge handwriting and documents, run a con, and take part in other less-than-legal activities, all behind the higher-ups backs. Eames slipped out of his old identity and into a new one.

-00000-

Eames surveyed the new country with expressionless grey eyes. He had not been that happy when he had been told he was to be transferred over to the American army. However, it was saving him from possibly a lifetime of kill or be killed. Both the British and American militaries had decided, after a year of the same usage for a device as remarkable as the PASIV, that its repertoire was to be expanded. And Eames had been chosen by his government for these new experiments because he was the one who wondered aloud the most about alternate uses for the PASIV.

The other five soldiers he had arrived with had already made their way inside the military training centre. Eames, however, remained standing still in the centre of the airport that had been dropped at, taking stock of his surroundings. A year of being shot at from behind made one slightly paranoid, and Eames always made sure to look around for escape routes when he arrived somewhere new.

Across the airstrip he could see a figure fast approaching. Judging from the figure, she too was military personal. American as well, because the lads he came over with very rarely held themselves at attention, and never did when there were no superior officers around. As the woman approached, Eames ran a quick once-over on her. Short, but strong, thin, cropped black hair, pale skin, brown eyes, slightly more attractive than average. And she was an Officer.

Eames grinned hugely at her when she came to stop in front of him. She did not relax her stance, and Eames wanted nothing more than to ruffle her feathers a little. She reminded him a bit too much of himself, before he joined the army - trying desperately to please those around him, to be seen following the rules, but with a hint of fun underneath he could never quite hide. Eames knew it was no way to live, and wanted to help her accept herself. Well, that, and he enjoyed messing with people.

The woman saluted but Eames did not return it. Instead, he reached out his hand, which she warily shook. Eames then brought their clasped hands up to his face, and brushed the back of her hand with his lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear." He said, and gave her one of the most charming smiles he could manage.

She did not batter an eyelid. Simply slipped her hand from his, and said, in clipped tones, "Mr. Peralli, I assume? They told me you were a charmer." But left the sentence hanging, as if to imply she did not believe it.

"I can assure you, ma'am, none of the stories are true." Eames drawled, smile still firmly affixed. "Except for the one where I slept with my superior officer." Here, he ran his eyes up and down her frame, with exaggerated slowness, "And I would dearly love to do it again."

The woman returned Eames' evaluative gaze, eyes flicking up and down his body, and resting firmly on his face. Then she said, without humour, "Well, then, I guess we will have to find one of the men to oblige you."

Eames let out a loud bark of laughter, smiling truly this time, flashing his crooked teeth. The woman flashed a grin back, before inclining her head towards the training centre. "Come on then, Mr. Peralli," she said, voice still betraying nothing but cool indifference, but amusement still evident in her eyes, "or we'll be late for briefing."

Eames followed her towards the building in front of them. "I thought you Americans were big on the whole 'don't ask, don't tell' thing." Eames mused

"Oh, we are." The woman replied. Eames could not see her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice now. "But I won't tell if you don't."

Again, Eames laughed. He was really starting to warm up to this place. "I like you, Officer..?" He said, gesturing with his hands for her to fill in the blanks.

"Smith." She said, grinning at him now. "But just call me Jane."

-00000-

Eames soon decided that Jane was the only American in his team that was worth knowing. And on the job she was still slightly too strict for him be around too much. He spent most of his time with his fellow English soldiers, or in the dreamscape.

It had not disappointed.

The possibilities the dreamscape presented had surpassed even his own vast imagination.

He had been shocked the first time he had gone under with one of his new American team-mates, to find himself surrounded by projections of the man's subconscious, in the form of people. All those that Eames had begun his training with kept their projections locked away in corners of the dream world. It had made it very difficult for the recruits to practice killing each other if the projections got to them first. Also, it made for an easy way for Eames to tell whether he was in one of his own dreams. It was the only time he was alone.

The American whose dream he had entered into could not understand why Eames would want to keep his subconscious locked away. It had not seemed healthy to him, not to mention, unnatural - the lack of them gave him the creeps when he dropped into Eames' mind. But Eames found the presence of projections constricting. It would limit his experimentation if he was constantly being killed. So he made a point of only going into either his own subconscious, or that of one of the British boys he had come over with.

But it was the dreamscape Eames truly loved. In his own mind, he could do anything. He could build entire cities in moments, watch the streets unfold before him, the buildings rise from the ground, lights flaring in what had once been empty space. It was beautiful, almost like magic, and Eames used it to visit places he had only dreamed of going to. He swore to himself that after all this was over, he would visit all these places in real life.

He learned to use his ability to run a con in real life to run something more important in the subconscious; steal secrets. After a while, there was very little Eames, or those he worked with, could not discover from diving into another mans dreams. He was sure that this ability could one day be a very dangerous weapon. Eames was not sure how he felt about pioneering something like that.

And, most importantly to his mind, Eames learned that in a dream, he could literally become another person. It was exhilarating, and everything Eames could ever want. Ever since he had left school, he had been trying to distance himself from the person he'd been while there. As a child, Eames had always been eager to please, and as he grew older, this turned into a fear of being cast out by his parents before he had been old enough to look after himself. As such, he had spent all his school years being quiet and attentive in class, stuffing his real personality deep inside himself, only letting it out in spurts while around friends. He had been given so much responsibility as a child, being the eldest and heir of a landed family, that he had never openly done anything he wanted to. As soon as he left, however, Eames had done everything in his power to distance himself from that person. He had changed his speech patterns, his style, the personality he let show, but his face had always reminded him of the obligation he had to his parents.

The PASIV let Eames become a free man.

-00000-

Technically, the experimentation and development Eames was undergoing in America meant he was taking part in scientific research, rather than military training. As such, he and his fellow soldiers were allowed weekends off to do whatever they wanted. So far, however, Eames had not taken up the opportunity to get to know America. But by the time his 20th birthday rolled around, he was dying for a proper tea.

Which was how Eames found himself wandering the streets of downtown New York, looking for a place to get a decent pot of tea. He knew that, when it came to big cities, the nicer places were the ones the locals had found in back streets, rather than the flashy, mainstream tourist traps. So Eames wandered into a back alley and entered the little cafe he found there.

It was mostly empty, and Eames weaved his way through tightly-packed tables to the counter, where he ordered his tea, while he cast his eyes around the other patrons of the cafe. There was an elderly couple sitting in the centre of the room, chatting quietly over cups of coffee and the paper, and a group of twenty-somethings all tapping away at laptops, while every now and again taking sips of something that looked black and strong. It was all delightfully cliché, and Eames had to smile serenely.

Then Eames' gaze fell onto the boy in the corner. He looked to be around 17, but with a face and build that could've looked older if his hair was done differently. Right now, though, it had settled into dark, loose curls that framed his pale face. He was reading something that, from a distance, looked like it could be assigned reading for the school he obviously attended, his long fingers curled delicately around it's cover. His uniform signalled to Eames that he went to some pretentious prep school, but the way he wore it, all buttoned up and straight, seemed to indicate that he was only at the school because his parents wished him to be. He was not drinking anything, just reading, and Eames supposed he was here simply for the peace and quiet to read. Or, he amended, to avoid the other kids at his school. Because while there was no questioning that he was beautiful, Eames was just as certain that the beautiful boy was perfectly miserable.

The young girl behind the counter tapped Eames on the arm to gain his attention before setting the tea down next to him. He reached absentmindedly for the cup, almost knocking it over, before making his way over to the boy in the corner. He wasn't right for someone so lovely to be so sad and lonely. Eames couldn't bare to see it. The boy deserved so much more.

He looked up slowly as Eames approached, face impassive, but deep, brown eyes guarded. Eames knew that the boy was ready to bolt should he make any sudden movements. So he smiled in his best imitation of a shy grin, and the boy's mouth twitched back. Eames saw a hint of a dimple. God, how he wanted to make the boy laugh.

Eames stopped in front of the table, legs brushing the checkered table-cloth, and stuck out his hand. "I'm Eames." He said. "No first name, not even a real last name, but it's what everyone calls me. May I sit down?"

The boy's eyes darted across Eames face and body, probably checking for any indication Eames would pounce, before nodding, just once, his lips curving into a polite smile, showing off those dimples that Eames was desperate to see more of. He then spoke, in a voice slightly too deep than what he looked like he would have, just two words. "I'm Arthur."

Eames was sure he'd fall in love.

-00000-

Eames was fascinated with Arthur. And he wasn't ashamed to admit it. The boy was a walking paradox, so many intricacies in his personality that even a man as accomplished at reading people as Eames could spend years just scratching the surface. He had been right when he had assumed Arthur was miserable at his school, but it wasn't because he was bullied. No, Arthur was just sick of school, the same people every day, the same lessons and the same scenery. But the order, the routine, Arthur loved. And Eames couldn't understand. How could you be bored of the sameness, but love the routine? It made no sense.

He and Arthur met every weekend at the cafe. Arthur just because he wanted a friend, someone to talk too. And Eames, because he was falling in love.

Arthur was a very easy person to love, and Eames was very open to the feeling, in every shape or form it offered. Arthur could go from a sad, kicked puppy look to practically bursting with excitement in a matter of moments. Eames could tell that one day, Arthur would be perfectly adept at controlling his facial expressions, but now, his youthful face couldn't hide everything he thought, and Eames loved making that face light up with joy, dimples that were too rarely shown to be viewed by the world.

Arthur leaned back in his chair as he spoke, and there were many times that Eames wished he could nudge the legs slightly, make Arthur lose his composure, so that Eames could take his eyes off him for a moment. When Arthur was around, he found it hard to do anything else. Often, at the end of the day, Eames left behind a cold, untouched tea.

Eames talked about his childhood, what it was like growing up in a landed family, and how he learned to gamble and con on the side. In turn, Arthur told him about his own life. Born in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Arthur's family, too, were rich. But instead of having a distant, disapproving, but ultimately caring family, Arthur's parents treated him with a cool indifference one would expect to be directed at a distant relative who had turned up one day begging for money. In some ways, Arthur was a classic case of a child starved of love, but he was not particularly rebellious or angry towards his parents. Instead, Arthur took out his anger at a shooting range.

After a year and a bit in the military, Eames was a fair shot. But when Arthur took him to the place he relieved tension, Eames didn't stand a chance. Arthur was deadly, spot on with almost every shot. But he hesitated, for just a second, and Eames knew that, in a tight spot, that would land him in a world of trouble. So he made sure to help Arthur lose that hesitation.

Arthur talked about books and scientific theories and maths. Everything that popped into his mind. Things that, in the real world, Eames couldn't care less about. But it was Arthur who talked about them, and Eames loved the way he got excited about them. Eames could've loved anything, simply because Arthur did.

And for his part, Eames made Arthur laugh. It was as wonderful as he had assumed it would be. Arthur lit up when he laughed, and Eames felt happy to know that he had made the boy who was so miserable when he had first met him, smile. It was a marvellous thing, making other people happy. And even if he wasn't totally in love with Arthur, he had developed a protectiveness of the boy, and always felt a swell of pride when he made his day just that bit more enjoyable.

Arthur, the beautiful, sad boy from the cafe became a real, living, breathing person. And Eames loved him.

-00000-

Eames could tell something was wrong the moment he walked into the cafe. Arthur didn't smile when he approached the table, and was taking great pains to avoid eye contact, staring resolutely at his own hands or at the coffee machine resting on the counter behind Eames. Seeing as Eames had only recently worked up the nerve to look Arthur in the eyes while talking to him, he trusted that Arthur would not lie to him now, he found the lack of eye-contact the most upsetting.

They sat in almost silence for ten minutes. This unsettled Eames. He was not used to things being so quiet, and Arthur was not responding to any of his questions or jibes in more than monosyllabic answers. The boy was nervous and jittery, shooting glances at Eames while the other man drank his tea. And Eames was troubled by it. He didn't like to see Arthur like this.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" He asked.

Arthur jumped at the direct question, as if being caught out doing something wrong. But then he sighed, and didn't even bother to deny Eames' assumption that he was not all right. "Oh, Eames." He spluttered, eye darting nervously, "It's just that, well, I, umm..."

"Spit it out, Arthur." Eames encouraged, a smile on his lips and laughter tinging his voice.

Arthur went red, but smiled in response. "Yeah. Eames, I have a question to ask you. Feel free to say no, but I'd appreciate your answer, since you're probably better at these things than me..." Arthur trailed off, face reddening further, and bit his bottom lip.

Eames heart both melted and soured at the scene before him. Arthur flustered was one of the more adorable things he had seen in his life time. The boy usually radiated self-confidence. And Eames needed to see him like this sometimes to remind him that Arthur was human, and not the perfect humanoid being Eames' mind sometimes built him up to be. Besides, Eames had an idea about where this conversation was headed, and if everything panned out the way he thought it would, the answer would be yes. When it came to Arthur, the answer was always yes. "Go on."

"Well, Eames, I have a favour to ask you." Arthur continued, studiously looking anywhere but Eames' face. "It's just that, well, I have a crush. On this girl at my school. She's so perfect and beautiful and amazing, and I feel like she doesn't know I'm just there waiting for her or that she doesn't realise I'd do anything to make her laugh, go out of my way to make her happy, or that I love her. Well, you know how it is..?"

Eames knows.

"And well, Eames, I was hoping you could give me some girl advice?"

Oh, how Eames knows. And it hurts. It aches everywhere. And Arthur is looking at him with such hope in his face, that there is nothing Eames can do. "Yeah, sure mate." He replied, forcing a smile onto his face.

Arthur beamed back. "Thanks, Eames. You're a great friend."

Yeah, friend.

-00000-

Once, one of his army buddies asked why he kept returning to the cafe. To Arthur.

"Because I love him." But Eames didn't say it. He never will. He just smiled, winked, tried to joke his way out of it. He will never say it, because Arthur doesn't want his love. Arthur just wants a friend. He needs a friend. And that's what Eames will be.


	2. Part 2

For Arthur's 18th, Eames forged him an ID and they went out clubbing. Arthur had told him he didn't usually celebrate his birthdays, because the people at his school bore him, and he's never really had a close friend before. And Eames was not going to let Arthur, his best friend, spend his 18th at home with a family who doesn't want him, or at school with people who don't interest him. So when he had asked what Arthur wanted to do for his birthday, and Arthur had jokingly mentioned a club, Eames decided to make it happen.

The bouncer barely glanced at Arthur's ID when they entered through the door, and Eames was mildly offended. It had been one of his better pieces of forgery. But obviously, the end of the man's shift had been approaching.

Eames and Arthur made their way directly to the bar, where Eames ordered them two drinks packed with alcohol, before turning around to watch the dance floor with Arthur. It had been a long time since Eames had visited a club; the music had changed, but the amount of grinding and debauchery on the dance floor had not. Arthur, it seemed, had never been to a club before, and watched everything with wide-eyed amazement. Eames had to grin at that, and Arthur beamed back.

The drinks arrived. Arthur drank his slowly, but Eames had already hit the four drink mark by the time Arthur had finished his first, and was well on the way to being totally pissed by the sixth. Arthur here, in his skinny jeans and tight shirt, did funny things to Eames' insides and embarrassing things in his pants, and Eames tried to drink enough that these feelings would go away. He had promised himself that he wouldn't pursue Arthur romantically at all. It was not what the boy needed.

Arthur turned and smiled shyly at Eames. Eames groaned. The alcohol had not helped.

They had not left their seats at the bar for the hour or so they had been at the club, but by the way Arthur would glance longingly at the dance floor every few minutes, Eames could tell the younger man wanted to get out there. And after eight drinks, Eames was just drunk enough that he could help. He was also sure that the army had weakened his tolerance for alcohol.

"Come on, Arthur." Eames said excitedly, latching onto Arthur's wrist and tugging him along behind him. "Come dance with me." Arthur made no complaint. Just shifted his hand so it was holding on to Eames' wrist as well.

The proximity of all the other dances meant Arthur and Eames had dance a little closer together than what would be classed as strictly friendly. Not that Eames minded. And Arthur seemed okay with it too. They remained connected at the wrist, and every now and again they would brush against each other, or have to hold one another tightly when another dancer fell over or wanted to make their way out of the throng. With each fleeting contact, Eames had to fight back a moan. But the music was pulsing loudly, and the people around them were moving and grinding under the flashing strobe lights so that no one would have noticed.

Eames watched Arthur's face. The young man was slightly flushed, and kept beaming at Eames, who, in his drunken state, could not help but take this as an invitation to pull Arthur closer. But he could also see that Arthur was watching something over Eames' shoulder intently, with an expression the younger man had never directed at him. Lust.

Eames risked a quick glance behind him and saw a girl at the bar. Long, pale limbs, full red lips and midnight black hair falling in loose curls down her back. Eames turned back, caught Arthur's eye, and winked at him. She was what Arthur really wanted for his 18th. "I'll introduce you after this song." He shouted, to be heard over the music. Arthur blushed, but nodded his thanks.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Eames." Arthur said, looking back at the older man.

Eames smirked. "It was nothing. Now, come one, girls like it when guys dance together."

Arthur simply nodded. He had little idea about what girls like. Eames felt bad about taking advantage of the younger mans lack of experience, but that disappeared as his pulled Arthur closer to him, big hands resting gently on his waist, as they moved together in the tight space in time to the music.

By the end of the night, Arthur would have made out with the girl for at least an hour, and Eames' would've found some pretty, young thing to take him home for a good night. Some girl. Eames was sure he would never be able to be with a man now if it wasn't Arthur. And in the morning he would leave her in her bed to wake up alone, and the girl at the club would never contact Arthur. And then, in a weeks time, Arthur and Eames would be sitting together in the cafe again, just like every other week.

But right now, with Arthur's hands gripping his arms, their bodies sliding and grinding against each other, and his mind pleasantly fuzzy with alcohol, Eames did not want to think about any moment that wasn't this.

-00000-

Eames knew he couldn't avoid it forever, that eventually Arthur would insist on knowing what Eames did for a living, but the older man had thought it would take longer than this. Of course, Arthur knew Eames was in the military, that had been unavoidable to disclose, but every time Arthur had asked for specifics, the Brit had managed to deflect the questions. Strictly speaking, Eames wasn't allowed to talk about his military project with civilians. But he knew he wouldn't be able to deny Arthur when the younger man really wanted to know.

Arthur watched Eames with undisguised curiosity lighting up his face. He had come so far in the four months or so Eames had known him. No longer was he the sad, beautiful boy in the corner of the cafe. Now, Arthur had a voice, a name and a personality to go with the looks. He was stubborn, excitable, slightly OCD when it comes to work, fascinated by everything around him, and posed a quick, dry wit that Eames wished he had. He smiles and laughs, but is deadly serious when it comes to the important things, and has the most perfect poker face when need be. He can be downright cutting, and completely ruthless, but he always has time for Eames and his attentions. And he never, ever asks for what he doesn't deserve.

And he deserves to know what it is Eames does. But Eames doesn't want to tell him. And it's not because of the disclosure policy. He had little moral dilemma when it came to revealing the militaries secrets. No, the problem was that Arthur would be fascinated by the PASIV device. He would want to know how it worked, what it could do, and where he could get his hands on one. Arthur would want to be a part of a shared dream. And Eames didn't know how he felt about that. He was sure Arthur could handle himself, but electronically-induced dreaming had it's side effects, the least of which was that after a while, you couldn't dream naturally. The dream world had not always been kind to Eames, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to expose Arthur to the darker side of human nature, where it had been kill, or be killed.

Sometimes, in Eames' eyes, Arthur was still that boy in the buttoned up uniform, reading quietly in the corner of a cafe, innocent and good. Sometimes he forgot everything he knew about Arthur, because he still looked like a young kid. Because he loved Arthur, and wanted to protect him.

But Arthur deserved to know. He hadn't held anything back from Eames. And he truly would be fascinated by it all.

Eames couldn't deny Arthur when he looked at him with such hope.

"Okay, Arthur," he sighed. "What do you know about dreams?"

-00000-

Arthur graduated almost seven months after he met Eames. He had thought no one would be there to see it, his parents not caring, and his best, and really, only, friend was probably dreaming away somewhere in an army camp, building impossible buildings, stealing secrets, or changing his face like it was as disposable and easily thrown away as a paper cup.

He was surprised, then, to see Eames leaning against a beaten-up Jeep when he walked out into the parking lot and headed towards home. The older man was beaming at him with a mixture of pride, amusement, and something Arthur could not place.

It was love, but Arthur had been starved of it all his life.

"So," Eames said, when Arthur got closer, "I came to hear your valedictorian speech, but you didn't do it. What happened, not quite as brilliant as you think you are?" Here, Eames smirked. He was well aware that Arthur did not even come close to describing his own genius, even though he was never modest.

Arthur smiled back. "No, I got the top marks. It was just that no one knew who I was." He shrugged. "They thought one of the more popular people should make the speech."

Eames looked slightly hurt, and growled that they didn't know what they were missing. Arthur blushed heavily, and they jumped into Eames' car and drove off to the cafe.

When they arrived, Arthur was oddly silent, and looked just as miserable as he had the first day Eames had seen him. Eames knew it wasn't about the valedictorian thing. Arthur didn't need to prove to other people he was brilliant. He just was. So something else had to be wrong. Something the older man had not picked up on. Eames' heart broke a little to see the lost look on Arthur's face.

"What's the matter, darling?" He asked. Eames had decided on calling Arthur by terms of endearment almost a month and a half ago now, and the younger man no longer even battered an eyelid. In fact, even though he swore he didn't, Eames knew that Arthur secretly adored it. Being addressed with such affection was a novel and wonderful experience for him, and Eames was happy to oblige.

Arthur grimaced, and stared up at Eames. "Well, it's just that, all my life, I've been okay with not having parental guidance. But I'd kind of like it now, you know. I don't know what to do with my life after this point."

Eames nodded. While he couldn't relate to Arthur's feelings, in his life he'd never lacked in parents telling him what to do, he could certainly understand that his life would've been much more difficult without it. He may have only used his parental advice to do the opposite of it when he left school, but at least it had always been offered.

"Okay, then," Eames said, putting down his teaspoon and watching Arthur for a reaction. "How about I be your parental figure in this case."

He had expected Arthur to laugh, to tell him not to be stupid, but he was surprisingly open to the idea. In fact, he looked excited to hear what Eames had to say. He wondered whether he should be worried about that.

Eames thought about it. Really, the best thing to do was to tell Arthur to go to university. Get a degree, get a good job, and make a name for himself out in the real world. Eames would probably never get to see him again, but he was sure Arthur would move on and be happy and brilliant at whatever he chose to do.

But then again, Eames would probably never get to see him again. His other option would be to tell Arthur to come with him and enlist in the army. Arthur would be exposed to cruelties that he had never encountered before, and would completely lose the innocent boy Eames sometimes still saw him as. But Arthur would also have the chance to work with the PASIV, a machine he displayed an endless, and slightly worrying passion for. And Eames would have him near.

Eames should tell Arthur to go to university. It would be the best option for him. Yes, university it was.

Eames looked up into Arthur's trusting, innocent expression, and opened his mouth.

"Arthur." He said. "Come join the army."

Eames was a terrible human being.

-00000-

The desk Arthur sat at was a dark mahogany, which looked completely out of place in the otherwise sparsely-decorated room. Eames sat next to him, deeply in conversation with the man opposite, one of the Officers in Charge of the PASIV experiments. Arthur's eyes darted around the room at ten minute intervals, but mostly he tried to keep them fixed on the man on the other side of the desk. He was aware of the importance of first impressions, and eye-contact went a long way in increasing the idea of competency.

But it was hard work, what with Eames shooting encouraging glances at him every second minute. It was putting him off.

After Eames had told Arthur to join the army with him, the younger man had realised that that had been what he really wanted to do all along. Over the almost-year he had known the Brit, Arthur had become rather attached to him, and trusted him in a way he trusted no one else. Eames was his best friend, and in fact, really the only friend he had, and he wasn't ready to let that go just yet, even if it meant not completing his formal education and earning the ire of his parents. Not that they really cared what he did anyway.

So, that afternoon Eames had put in a good word for him with his superiors, hinting that Arthur had had outside training in the PASIV technology, and a few days later he and Arthur were in a meeting with his Officer in Charge, attempting to persuade the man to let his friend join them in their experiments.

Eames shot Arthur another glance. Arthur began to get frustrated. He didn't know why Eames kept looking at him. It was vexing him. Arthur cast his mind back, trying to figure out what Eames was trying to convey with each flick of his eyes. He tried to remember any advice the older man had given him, or perhaps there was a secret code Eames had devised for them to communicate through that Arthur had forgotten. It seemed like the kind of thing Eames would find funny.

And then suddenly, something came back to him.

"_Try to remember how you got here, darling."_

Arthur thought back to what he had been doing an hour ago. He and Eames were driving to the Army training centre. They'd opened the gates and knocked on the Officer's door, and then...nothing.

And Arthur knew. He cast a questioning look at Eames, and the older man grinned back and winked when he was sure it wouldn't be spotted. Arthur moved his concentration to the hands resting on his knee and thought very hard about his favourite Glock, the one he kept in his bedside table at home, even though he'd never use it outside the firing range, until it appeared to dissolve into being underneath his palm. He took a few steadying breaths. He knew this was a dream, he'd made a gun appear from thin air for goodness sakes, but he'd never shot a person before either. But, he supposed, if he was going to take part in the militaries experiments into dreamsharing, he would have to learn to kill at some point. Better now than never.

And with this practical, logical idea in his head, Arthur stood up slowly and barely aimed his Glock, shooting the Officer through the head.

Eames beamed at him, and stood up, placing a steadying hand on Arthur's shoulder. The younger man only shook a few times before he managed to pull himself together, and put what he had just done out of his mind. "It was a good shot Arthur." He said. "You're very brave, you know."

Arthur didn't feel brave. Only mildly sickened, as he looked down at the mess that had once been a complete human head. But then the excitement of where he was, and what he was doing filtered back, and his eyes tried to take in the whole of the dreamscape at once. Eames laughed. "Okay, darling." He said. "We have three minutes left on the timer in reality, which gives us around about 35 minutes here in the dream. That is, if he," and here, Eames pointed at the disappearing body behind the desk, "doesn't kick us out sooner."

Arthur nodded, and Eames continued. "So, I've decided to teach you basic in-dream architecture. It's the quickest thing to pick up the basics of. Now, you've heard me explain the theory, but now I need you to put it in to practice. I think we should be outside."

Arthur took a deep breath, and reached up to grip hard onto the hand still resting on his shoulder, as if he could somehow draw the ability to manipulate the dreamscape from the other man. He stared at the walls of the office he was in, and imagined them folding down, reaching a level flat with the floor. Grass sprang from the once concrete walls and floor, straight and stiff, but still grass-ish.

Eames looked around the newly-created field, noting the desk which still remained and the unnatural fell of the grass, and nodded his approval. "This is a really good start, Arthur." He said. "Now we just have to work on the details. Firstly, this desk needs to go..."

It was lucky Arthur was a really quick learner, as well as being brilliant.

-00000-

It didn't take long for Arthur to join Eames at the top of the dreamsharing experiments. While he didn't have the experience the other's had, he had a natural brilliance for dreaming, as well as a genuine fascination with the PASIV device. It also helped that Eames was there to guide him and give him advice on anything he didn't completely understand. Though, to Eames' endless amusement, and often frustration for the both of them, he could not get the hand of 'forging,' the newly named field of changing appearances in dreams, which Eames himself had pioneered.

Arthur was exceptional at everything he did. When it came to dreaming, he was a deadly shot, and a skilled architect and extractor. He also was captivated by the PASIV device, and found the research into it's abilities endlessly fascinating. In the real world, too, he displayed a curiosity with everything going on around him, and watched everything with wonder. He learned about the way the PASIV was constructed, and began to run experiments on the ways certain people reacted to its usage. Soon, he was able to guess how a person's dreamscape would be constructed, and how they would react to certain stimulants while under simply by watching them in the real world to such a degree that it was almost unheard of for him to be surprised by anything that happened in dream time. The surprises only came in the form of Eames' mind.

Eames, too, developed and honed his skills in the dreamscape. While he had a degree of mastery in pretty much every role one could be expected to need in dreamsharing, he decided to focus on forging. It was a talent that it seemed no one around him could quite get the hang of, and Eames' ego was sufficiently boosted because of the fact. No more was it simply a way for Eames to separate himself from his past and familial obligations, he turned forging into an art form. It wasn't enough, he decided, to simply look like another person. In order to stay ahead in the game, he would literally have to become another, adopting their presence, mannerisms and personalities. It was a complex process, one which would require Eames' full attention, and, he was sure, would never grow boring. People, he had found, were endlessly fascinating creatures. Especially Arthur.

Eames had been right. The Army had changed Arthur. The younger man now could control his facial expressions with no effort or slips at all. It became hard for even Eames to tell what he was thinking. Hard, but not impossible. Arthur had also lost that innocent look that he had so often looked at Eames with, fascinated and intrigued with whatever Eames was about to say. Now, Arthur watched everything with a cool, calculated indifference, distancing himself from every scenario that did not involve the PASIV device. Or Eames. Because no matter how Arthur changed, Eames would still be his best friend and only confident. Arthur was now ruthless and hard, focused completely on the job at hand, and seemed to have no time for his fellow experimenters.

But Eames loved him anyway. Because no matter how much he tried to hide it, to project a presence of aloofness and dispassion to those around him while he worked, at the end of the day, when the PASIV device was no where in sight and he and Eames were sitting in the room they shared at the training camp, Arthur was still the curious, excited, beautiful boy Eames had coaxed out of his shell during weekly visits to a cafe. Really, when it came to the moments that mattered, the only thing that had changed was that Arthur was no longer sad. And that he had wised up to some of Eames' more outrageous stories.

Separately, Eames and Arthur are brilliant, but together, they're unstoppable. There was next to nothing that they can not achieve in the dreamscape when they worked together, and the completely different ways they approached extraction and architecture only seem to slot together to make a watertight plan every time. While they may bicker about how each experiment will be carried out, the end product always seems to be a mix of both their ideas, and it never fails. They slot together as easily as the men themselves.

-00000-

Eames and Arthur were happy working together in military dreaming for a year and a half. Or, more accurately, Arthur had been. Eames, however, became disillusioned with the way military dreaming was run around a year after Arthur joined. While they had shifted much of the focus of the dreamscape to experimentation with it's abilities, there was still a large amount of emphasis on the way it could be used to hurt people without any real-world evidence. And while Eames had come to terms with this when it came to himself, he could not shake the terror whenever Arthur was killed, nor could he stand to see the hard look that was growing in Arthur's eyes, pushing out his innocence. He was eternally grateful that the younger man had joined him in his venture, but was also filled with guilt whenever he became more and more like a trained killer. He could have grown up to be so much more.

However, Arthur was happy with the way things were, and so Eames did not voice his displeasure until six months later.

They were seated on their respective beds facing each other. Eames had removed his shirt, and the tattoos that he had been acquiring in secret were on display to any who entered the room. No one ever did. Arthur stretched out his legs in front of him and swung his body around so he was lying on the bed. Eames watched his movements out of the corner of his eye. Arthur could not know that he watched every move he made every day. He was mesmerising.

Eames had been watching Arthur for the six months, and had seen his attitude towards the PASIV experiments change. He still looked the same as ever to those around him who weren't Eames, but the older man could tell that Arthur was beginning to question the militaries motives when it came to the device. Arthur had not been briefed on it's potential to be used as a device to train killers, but Eames was sure that the younger man had started to see it behind everything else they did while dreaming.

Eames took a deep breath. He had been thinking about doing what he was about to for around four months, but he had to be sure Arthur was ready to go along with it. And now seemed as good a time as any.

"Hey Arthur?" Eames queried. Arthur grunted back in acknowledgement, and Eames continued. "I have a proposition to make. And I want you to consider it very carefully, because it could very well change everything."

Arthur sat up slowly and looked Eames dead in the face. There was not hint of amusement there, and he could tell that whatever Eames was about to ask was of the utmost importance. He nodded. "Go ahead, Eames."

Eames nodded back, biting his bottom lip while his eyes darted everywhere about the room, not resting on a place for more than a few seconds before they retuned to Arthur's eyes. He had always thought they were such beautiful eyes, and the coolness taking over them gave him the courage to continue. He did not want Arthur to end up as cynical and paranoid as he was.

"Arthur, I'm sure you have noticed that I have lost a large amount of passion for the PASIV experiments lately." Arthur nodded slowly. "And so, I have decided to leave the military."

Arthur looked confused. "But we still have six months left of service." But even as he said it, realisation dawned on his face.

"Yes, that's an inconvenience, darling." Eames said, "But one which I'm sure we can work around." He took another deep breath, steeled himself, and said "Come away with me, Arthur."

For once, Arthur's control over his facial reactions failed him completely, and he looked at Eames with pure shock plastered all over his face. It would have been comical if the answer he was about to give would not change everything about their lives forever. If Arthur left with Eames, he would become a wanted fugitive, a deserter, and would loose everything he had achieved in a year and a half of solid work. And yet, if Eames left on his own, which Arthur was sure he would, he would loose his only real friend in the world, the man who had burst into his life and shaped him into the person he was now, showing him nothing but kindness and patience, giving him happiness and expecting nothing in return.

"So you've uprooted my life, dragged me into the army with you and shown me the limitless capabilities of the mind, only to try and steal me away again? What was the point?"

Eames smiled sadly. "Maybe I just wanted someone to run away with, darling."

Two hours later, in the dead of night, Arthur and Eames deserted the army, running away with nothing more than their dog tags and a stolen PASIV device. They left everything else to be found by the others in the morning.

-00000-

The television ran quietly in the background, an old Bugs Bunny cartoon throwing soft lights over the walls of the hotel room. Arthur lay on the couch in front of it, watching the flickering images with half-closed eyes, lulled by the mind-numbing simplicity of the program. It calmed him, after what he and Eames had just done.

Eames sat at the small round table, pen tapping against his lip, and feet resting on the briefcase containing the PASIV device, just to be sure he still had it. Neither of the men had felt safe enough to turn the lights on - they had not exactly paid for their hotel room, more entered through the window - but Eames had moved the beside lamp so that it was shining it's weak light onto the pieces of paper in front of him. Just two names and both he and Arthur would legally be dead. It was the easiest way to drop off the map. And after what they had done, they may as well be dead if they were caught.

There were also two passports lying closed at his elbow. They would need to be changed slightly if there were to get Eames and Arthur out of the country, but he was sure it could be done. They just had to leave soon enough that the military had not put them on the no-flight list. So before tomorrow night, as early as possible.

Arthur forced his eyes open and tuned slightly, leaning his chin on the back of the couch and watching Eames as he worked. The older man felt his gaze on him and looked up to meet Arthur's eyes questioningly. They grinned at each other, both still slightly high on the adrenalin rush deserting had given them, but with fatigue slowly creeping though their bones. Neither wanted to sleep, though. They weren't sure if they would wake up.

"So what now?" Arthur asked.

Eames shrugged. "I haven't really thought past getting out of the country." He said sheepishly. "Where do you want to go, Arthur."

The younger man looked puzzled, but Eames knew he had an answer. "Paris." He said,

Eames was confused. What could Arthur want in Paris? A place which was not exactly off the map. "Why?"

Arthur shrugged. "There's a man there." He said. "Name of Miles. He and his daughter and her boyfriend work at a university where they study the PASIV device. I'm not ready to give up on it yet, Eames, and they will have less violent motives behind the experimentation than the army does."

Eames considered Arthur's suggestion. It was not that he wanted to throw away everything he had done with his life for the past two and a half years, but he had been hoping for a little rest time. Maybe see some sights, find a pub and gamble away everything he owned before getting back into that again. It would be nice to throw his troubles away for a while, to stop Arthur from growing up too quickly.

But Arthur loved the PASIV. He loved almost everything to do with dreaming. It was a constant source of fascination for him, and something Eames was sure he would never tire of. And looking at Arthur now, his eyelids drooping from tiredness yet eyes bright with excitement, hair loose and curly, sticking up at odd angles and a small smile on his face, Eames knew he could deny him nothing.

Sometimes love was just annoying.

Eight hours later, Eames and Arthur were on a plane to Paris.

-00000-

One day soon, Eames and Arthur's families will receive their sons death certificates. Eames' parents will be devastated. Arthur's won't even open the letter.

Eames and Arthur will meet up with Mal, Dom and Miles in Paris, where they will assist in the research into dreamsharing. Eames will specialise in forging, and Arthur will become a pointman, carrying out research on everything that could possibly come up in a dreamscape. Together with Dom they will pioneer subconscious security, a field in which Arthur will excel, as he does with almost everything.

One day, Dom and Mal will go too far, drop into limbo, and Mal will end up dead. Eames and Arthur will decide to split up for a while, to make sure they can function fine without each other. Eames will go to Mombassa and meet Yusef, who will become his best friend, apart from Arthur, and will act as his confidant in matters which concern his never-fading feelings towards a certain other man, which Arthur can not know about. Arthur will stay with Cobb, try to keep him from following his dead wife into insanity, where he will let his subconscious projections populate his mind again in order to slow down the psychotic projection of Mal. They will enter the less than legal business of corporate espionage in dreams, and decide not to work together so that their friendship will not be displayed for their new enemies - better to let everyone think they hate each other than to let them know their weakness for one another.

Arthur will begin to wear suits and slick back his hair, hiding his true personality behind cool glances and ruthless efficiency. There will be very few who will be able to see through him. Eames will indulge in the love of colour which he developed in the army. He will try to keep his cynicism and hardness in check, but it will emerge in the strangest places. No one who killed so many people, even in dreams, could remain untouched by it. No one but Arthur will recognise him as once being Eugene Peralli. He will have so many false identities that even he himself will sometimes be able to forget his real name, if only for a second.

They will grow apart professionally, but their friendship will never falter. They will meet and drink and talk whenever possible. They will fall asleep together more often then not at these times, and Eames will fall a little bit more in love, and Arthur will remain oblivious. And one day, 10 and a half years later, they will be on the first team to successfully perform Inception.

But until then, they are simply two boys, one almost 20, the other 22 and a bit, sleeping on a plane to Paris, Arthur's head on Eames' shoulder, and Eames' cheek resting on the top of Arthur's head, oblivious to the turn their lives have taken.

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are love, and encourage me to write more. And constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.


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